NO BAD NEWS

Every year the holidays come and go. A new year starts, and we’re given this quiet moment to reset - or at least reconsider what we want to focus on. Some people do Dry January. Others commit to workouts. For me, this year has been about something a little less obvious.

I’ve never been big on social media. I don’t share much. I repost when I’m tagged, but for the most part, I’ve always stayed quiet. For a long time, I told myself that building a personal brand felt vain - unnecessary. Lately, I’ve realized that was an easy excuse.

When your life and work revolve around creating experiences and connecting people, choosing not to share your perspective isn’t humility - it’s absence. And absence doesn’t make anything better. Staying quiet doesn’t mean you don’t have a point of view. It just means you’re opting out of contributing it.

I’m not saying I’m always right. I’m not saying the world is better if everyone listens to me. I am saying I now know my opinions matter - and there’s nothing wrong with sharing your voice when it’s honest and considered. It’s a piece of you. Why hide it?

Something I’ve been reminding myself lately: you’re not afraid of failure - you’re afraid of being seen failing. That’s ego. We want to look effortless, refined, composed. But the people who actually get better are the ones willing to look a little foolish in pursuit of something real.

New year. Same me. Slightly louder.

Anthony Bourdain is my favorite writer.

Not because he used big words or tried to sound smart — but because he didn’t. He had this rare ability to make you feel every word, every place he visited, every late night, every bad decision, every perfect meal. Nothing ever felt performative. It felt lived.

Bourdain understood kitchens. He understood cooks. He understood what it’s like to grind, to mess up, to rebuild, to find meaning in unlikely places. You can feel that in his writing. It’s simple, direct, and incredibly effective. Emotional without trying to be.

If you haven’t read Kitchen Confidential, I can’t recommend it enough — especially the audiobook, which he narrates himself. Hearing him tell those stories in his own voice makes it hit differently. It’s raw, funny, honest, and still somehow comforting.

He left a lasting mark on food, travel, and culture — and an incredible legacy. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to watch Roadrunner. It feels like the end of a chapter I’m not ready to close.

I recently gave Kitchen Confidential to my buddy Mitch and he texted me a few days later saying it was addicting. That checks out.

Start here:
🎧 Kitchen Confidential audiobook – [affiliate link here]

Take your time with it. It stays with you.

A great host knows how to read a room. They notice who hasn’t been pulled in yet and make introductions before things feel awkward.

But not every room has someone doing that work.

So here’s a move I’ve learned to trust - at work events, parties, anywhere you’re walking into a room and don’t quite know where to land.

If you’re unsure who to talk to, look for two people already in conversation.

It’s the easiest place to enter without forcing anything. There’s already energy there. You’re not interrupting a moment or trying to carry a conversation on your own - you’re joining something that’s already moving.

I’ve met some of my best collaborators and friends this way. Not by working the room, but by paying attention to it.

Good hosting isn’t about being the loudest or the smoothest person there. It’s about knowing how to step in - and when to let things unfold naturally.